


You Would Come with Me

by thewayaround



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is a softly who just wants to prove he's worth more than his legacy, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, M/M, Merlin just thinks he's a cabbagehead but he'd never tell him that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 07:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewayaround/pseuds/thewayaround
Summary: Merlin hums against his shoulder. “It sounds lovely, Arthur,” he whispers.“Though unrealistic,” Arthur adds, and Merlin shakes his head.“For now, yes,” he says. “In the future, perhaps not.” He pauses, and then sighs. “It would be terribly difficult serving the next king,” he jokes. “Though I’m sure he wouldn’t be as much of a dollophead as you are.”“Don’t be absurd,” Arthur tells him. “You would come with me, of course.”“Ah, yes,” Merlin laughs. “I’d be there to do all the difficult work.”“Of course,” Arthur responds, and they both chuckle.





	You Would Come with Me

**Author's Note:**

> I have never read Harry Potter, but I know the quote "Always," has a very big part in the series. Just want to let everyone know that I have only seen the movies, so this work is in no way inspired by that (though I would love for someone to explain it to me please). I planned on this work having a completely different story. Let me know if anyone would be interested in me uploading the original idea as an alternate ending.
> 
> Also this is very short because I'm now in college and schoolwork comes first (that and my roommate's sanity. She wouldn't appreciate me staying up until 3 am listening to music we both listened to seven years ago).

“I told Guinevere once that I wanted to be a farmer,” Arthur says, and Merlin almost drops the gauntlet he’s polishing.

“You _what?_” he asks, looking toward Arthur. The king is sitting at his table, head propped on his fist and his eyes cast down towards the wood.

“I told her that I sometimes thought of leaving,” he says, and Merlin places the gauntlet and cloth onto the table to sit in the empty chair beside him. “I would go somewhere where no one knew me, my name, and I would make a new life there.”

“You? A _farmer?_” Merlin laughs, and Arthur looks up at him with a glare.

“Shut up, _Merlin_,” he responds. “It isn’t _that_ ridiculous.”

“Oh, sure,” Merlin jokes. “I can see it now; you, with you posh, regal ways working all day in a sweltering field. Coming home from a long day to make dinner and sleeping in an unlavish bed with thin sheets and only a single pillow. Definitely not ridiculous.”

Arthur’s fist falls to the table gently, and he pushes himself out of the chair. Merlin stays where he is, reaching for the gauntlet and cloth as the king moves towards the window. It’s dark outside, and a faint light from the courtyard torches is shining on his face. “I think it would quite suit me,” Arthur says, glancing towards Merlin. The servant has his feet propped up in the chair Arthur was previously sitting in, his eyes fixated on the gauntlet in his hand. “Being a farmer and all.”

Merlin hums, rubbing the armor with his polishing cloth. “Maybe,” he mumbles, holding the metal glove up to his face and squinting, like he was observing a difficult spot. “You would have to lose some of that prat aura first. Farmers don’t deal well with men who believe they are above.”

“Above?”

“Above them,” Merlin clarifies, turning to Arthur and rolling his eyes. “In society, I mean. Village folk don’t take all that kindly to strange people invading their land then acting as though they are higher in society.”

“I wouldn’t,” Arthur says, and Merlin snorts. The king turns to look at him, banging a fist against the cobblestone beside the window. The servant starts and fumbles, the gauntlet falling from his hand. He looks up at Arthur like he’s about to shout, then falters at the look on the king’s face. It’s pure intensity, all brooding and glaring eyes. “I wouldn’t,” Arthur repeats, voice stern.

Merlin sighs and bend over to pick up the fallen gauntlet, then places it on the table and stands. He moves to stand beside Arthur at the window, staring through the glass at the city below. “Your people love you, Arthur,” he says, staring for a few moments longer then turning to lock his eyes with the king’s. “You couldn’t leave them, even if you wanted to. Imagine the unrest it would cause,” he says, and Arthur turns to look back out the window.

“Surely it wouldn’t be too bad,” he mumbles, and Merlin sighs.

“Too bad?” he says, though it comes out like he’s just been offended. “The neighboring kingdoms would see it as a chance to attack. They would try taking over.”

“I know—”

Merlin doesn’t seem to hear him. “Poverty, famine,” he says. “They would raise taxes and create chaos, Arthur.”

The room falls silent, both men now staring out the window. It’s late, well past the dead of night, but a woman is crossing across the courtyard with young boy in in her arms, sleeping against her shoulder. She’s wearing a servant’s dress, and her thin shawl has been wrapped around the boy in her arms, doing nothing for the cold, and Arthur feels a pang of guilt. He watches the guards let her through the gate into the lower town and disappear past the cobblestone. “It would just,” he begins, pausing to find the right words he wants to say in this moment. “Life would be so much easier, Merlin. No wars to fight, no weeping mothers and wives. No parties and teas with high lords and ladies. No incoming threat from kingdoms and sorcerers…”

Merlin moves away from him at that, going to sit back at the table. Arthur watches him pick up the gauntlet and continue where he left off, sitting rigid in the chair. He looks tired. “When was the last time you slept, Merlin?” Arthur asks, and the servant snorts, not looking away from the armor in his hand.

“I could ask you the same question,” he responds, and Arthur sighs. He moves away from the window and pulls his chair beside Merlin’s, reaching out and taking the gauntlet from his hand. “What are you doing?” the servant asks, fumbling to keep hold of the cloth as Arthur’s fingers move to pull it away.

“Showing I’m not incompetent,” Arthur says after a small game of tug of war. Merlin watches him press the cloth to the difficult spot on the gauntlet and rub, never taking his eyes away from the metal until the smudge is gone and he tosses the armor onto the table.

He folds his arms across his chest and sits, staring at the fire in the hearth. Merlin shuffles and lays his head on the king’s shoulder, also watching the flames. “I never said you were incompetent,” he mumbles, and Arthur sighs, pressing his cheek against the top of Merlin’s hair.

“I know,” he responds quietly. "I just feel like I am sometimes."

The room falls silent again, and for a few moments Arthur fears Merlin has fallen asleep. “Tell me more,” the servant suddenly says, his cheek still on Arthur’s shoulder, “about this farm of yours.”

Arthur smiles, though he knows Merlin can’t see it. “It would be somewhere far from here,” he whispers, staring at the flames. “I would have a house in a village where no one knew who I was. Every day, I would go into the fields and work, maybe have a stall in the kingdom’s market where I sold my bidding. Then I would go home and sleep in that oh so uncomfortable bed you mentioned and have no troubles.”

“What about during the winter when the crops all died?” Merlin asks, and Arthur leans more against his head.

“I would sell garnishes for the Yuletide,” he says. “They would come with jugs of warm cider and sweets for the children. Or I would find work in a pub where I would earn my keep until the spring solstice.”

Merlin hums against his shoulder. “It sounds lovely, Arthur,” he whispers.

“Though unrealistic,” Arthur adds, and Merlin shakes his head.

“For now, yes,” he says. “In the future, perhaps not.” He pauses, and then sighs. “It would be terribly difficult serving the next king,” he jokes. “Though I’m sure he wouldn’t be as much of a dollophead as you are.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Arthur tells him. “You would come with me, of course.”

“Ah, yes,” Merlin laughs. “I’d be there to do all the difficult work.”

“Of course,” Arthur responds, and they both chuckle.

It was then that a loud crash came from the courtyard, followed by the familiar sounds of the warning bell. Arthur and Merlin both stand at once, moving to the window in a hurry. The same woman from earlier is running back through the courtyard, gripping tightly to her child. A hoard of people from the lower town follows her, running up the steps of the citadel. Arthur begins pulling on his armor before Merlin has even pulled away from the window at the same time another crash rings out.

“Go see what’s happening,” Arthur demands, and Merlin nods, bolting from the room without closing the door behind him. Arthur fumbles for the rest of his armor and grabs his sword from the floor, following behind just shortly after. He meets Merlin running up the stairs, his clothes covered in soot.

“The lower town is under attack,” he tells the king as Leon runs up behind them. “They’re moving towards the citadel.”

“I already have men travelling to the lower town as we speak,” the knight says. Another crash rings out. “We have to close the gates, my lord.”

“No,” Arthur says, and Leon stares at him in shock. “We have to get as many people from the lower town into the citadel. They’re looking for us to protect them and that is what we shall do. I want you to send a second flank to the lower town. Get out as many people as you can and bring them here.”

Leon hesitates for a moment, then nods. “I shall see to it, my lord,” he says, then takes off down the stairs. Merlin moves to follow, and Arthur grabs his wrist.

“Merlin, I need you to stay here,” he tells him, and Merlin shakes his head.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, moving to run again. Arthur holds him in place. “Arthur, let me go—”

“No!” Arthur shouts, and Merlin freezes. They hear the shouting and the sobs coming from inside the kingdom. “No, Merlin. I need you here. Help get the people to safety. All women and children need to be put into the empty rooms. The men need to be taken to the throne room. We need to get as many people away from the doors as we can.”

“_Arthur—_”

“_Please_, Merlin,” Arthur interrupts, squeezing the servant’s wrist tightly. “We don’t know what we’re up against. I need you here to help our people.”

Merlin wants to fight it, it’s so painstakingly obvious. But then he nods, and Arthur does too. They head down the stairs together, and it’s only once they’ve reached the bottom that Arthur realizes he’s still holding Merlin’s wrist. He gives it a final squeeze, and Merlin smiles. He twists his hand to grab Arthur’s and clutches it, their fingers linking together. “Come back to me,” he says, a small, worried smile on his face.

Arthur smiles back. “Always,” he responds, then unlinks their fingers and rushes into the courtyard.

* * *

When Arthur returns, the sun has just begun to peak over the horizon. Too many had been lost during the night’s attack, both knight and citizen alike. His shoulders felt heavy, too heavy for a boy that had only just become king.

When they open the doors of the citadel, people are crowded in the halls.

A man holding a baby wrapped in soot coated blankets is holding his face in his hand, sobs wracking his shoulders from where he sits on a staircase. Two children standing in a corner clutch hands, looking around in fear and confusion. A little boy stands near Arthur, clutching a worn blanket and searching the room. The king’s heart aches at the sight.

He finds Merlin in the throne room tending to the wounded with Gaius. The servant’s eyes light up at the sight of him, and Arthur watches him break away from Gaius with (no doubt) an apology, then crosses the room to him.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, my lord,” Merlin says, taking hold of Arthur’s arm and pulling him from the room. The stairway up to his private chambers are empty, as are the halls. Merlin ushers him into the room and grabs a pitcher from the table, moving to gather water from the well outside.

Arthur wants to reach out to him, to keep him in the bedroom until they are sure the imposing threat is gone, but he can’t move. He just sits on the edge of the bed and watches the chamber doors until the servant comes back in, then again when he leaves to gather a bit more water.

When the tub is filled and warmed, Merlin walks to Arthur and begins tugging on the armor. “Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur mumbles, not knowing why he says it.

“There’s no need to thank me, Arthur,” Merlin responds. “I’m only doing my duty. Now stand up so we can get this blasted armor off of you. You’re covered in grime.”

* * *

“Arthur Pendragon, if you get out of this bed one more time, I’m going to have to knock you out to keep you in it.”

Arthur groans as Merlin pushes him back towards the bed again. He’s exhausted, but he has to see his people. He tells Merlin as much, and the servant shakes his head. “Tomorrow, Arthur,” he tells the king. “They can wait until tomorrow. Trust me, no one wants you falling unconscious while addressing them.”

“They’ve been through so much, Merlin,” Arthur protests as the servant begins pulling the blankets around him. “I need to be there for them.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says. Nothing more, just his name. His voice is so weak. “Please, just sleep. They’ll understand.”

“Will you stay?” Arthur asks, and Merlin nods. He crosses the room to pull a chair beside the king’s bed, and Arthur reaches for his hand as soon as he sits back down. Merlin takes it, their fingers tangled on top of Arthur’s blankets. The king stares up the canopy of his bed, squeezing Merlin’s fingers. “There was a man down there,” he mumbles. “He had a baby. He was heartbroken, Merlin. And there was boy. He was alone, and he looked so… frightened.”

“Tore you to pieces?”

“It did,” Arthur responds.

“That farm of yours is sounding quite nice,” Merlin says, trying to pass it off as a joke. It doesn’t work. Too much has happened.

“If I did want to leave,” Arthur says, looking towards the servant, “would you come with me?”

Merlin smiles sadly, running his free hand through Arthur’s hair. The king shuts his eyes.

“Always,” Merlin whispers, and Arthur smiles. “After all, selling Yuletide garnishes will need more than two hands.”

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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